SOCCER MOM CHRONICLES: Be Boston proud

Tuesday

May 7, 2013 at 12:01 AMMay 7, 2013 at 7:18 AM

It’s so hard to know what to say that hasn’t already been said, or felt, or expressed in some way over what happened at the Boston Marathon. All the shock, anger and disbelief I felt in the days that followed seem to have turned to a kind of sad numbness.

Ann Luongo

It’s so hard to know what to say that hasn’t already been said, or felt, or expressed in some way over what happened at the Boston Marathon. All the shock, anger and disbelief I felt in the days that followed seem to have turned to a kind of sad numbness.

In the days and weeks following Sept. 11, I cried every single day. I had the news on at all hours and a baby asleep on my lap, and I cried rivers. I hadn’t realized a single person had the capacity to produce so many tears. The loss of life and the shock of such violence and hatred were almost enough to knock all traces of hope right out of me.

And now violence has brought itself to our front door. It’s not happening to someone else, somewhere else. It’s now and it’s here.

We can’t say it was unexpected. In these last 11 years we have continued on in our lives and routines, but we’ve always been aware that something could happen again. Something could happen here.

My husband and I grew up in Boston. We were born and raised in Somerville, a suburb of Boston and spent countless years taking the Orange Line to Downtown Crossing, Park Street or Copley Place.

Our parents took us to ride the swan boats in the Public Garden as children, and we took our own children to ride them as well.

We had picnics at Castle Island in Southie.

We’ve had incredible Italian food in the North End.

We’ve walked the Freedom Trail.

We’ve shopped at the Corner Mall.

And on many snowy December nights we stood in the cold and watched the moving and dancing figures in the windows of Filene’s and Jordan Marsh.

We’ve seen the Red Sox play the Yankees at Fenway, and we’ve been to concerts and circuses and ice shows and Bruins’ games at the old Boston Garden.

We’ve seen musicals at the Wang Theater, and we’ve stood in awe of the great paintings at the Public Library.

We’ve seen the amazing and humbling view from the top of the John Hancock building, and we’ve spent evenings traipsing all over Faneuil Hall.

We’ve wondered at the sense of solemnity inside of Trinity Church.

In the course of the last 20 years, we’ve lived other places, but Boston has been and always will be home for us. And we have always been drawn back to her, no matter how long or how far away we’ve been. Our accents, our attitudes, our toughness, our pride – we have Boston written all over us, and people who aren’t from here recognize that. It runs in our veins, and stands out like a brand on our foreheads.

We are Boston proud, through and through.

Even is chaos, there is always hope. The people who plan and carry out these acts of madness just don’t seem to get that. Yes, they knock us down for a little bit. And then they unite us. They bring us together. They draw out the courage and selflessness and acts of bravery that you just don’t see every day.

Because of these cowards, there will always be brave souls who run toward danger instead of away from it. There will always be nameless heroes who will risk their own safety to help someone in need. We feel as one when these events occur, as though it’s happening to our friends, or to our children, to our loved ones. Our hearts reach out. We just can’t help it.

We become one. We are all Boston. We are all New York. We are Newtown, and Colorado and Virginia Tech.

We are the ones who will always stand up to those who would try to break us or harm us. We will not be forced or frightened into living in fear, because we come from those who would not be held down or oppressed.

We will always, always rise up again.

Ann Luongo is a Plymouth writer and the mother of two teenagers. She has lived in Plymouth for 13 years. You can reach her at aluongo1@hotmail.com.

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